A man must totally reject a few good opportunities before he can accept his own. -Intellectual Shaman
Harry was going to get promoted. He had been working for this, for the past three years, but with no life blood. The red and green sunrise above his apartment complex was his only reminder that there were worlds beyond his own. He watched an Asian boy a foot shorter than a white girl with blonde hair, with so much confidence spread across his face in a wide grin, as he played with her hair, braiding it, dancing to some imaginary music in his head. She belonged to him because he could dance. Harry felt cold in his car. He looked at his sack lunch, with a jelly sandwich on white, and an apple. He was coming apart at the seams, like a worn shirt. Nobody told him that being smart isn’t enough. One needs to be tough, and one needs to be able to dance. He parked, and went inside. His office was bare. Nobody could tell who he was by looking at his office. It was vacant, like he was moving in or moving out. Harry had been there for eight years.
His phone was ringing…
“Yes,” Harry said.
It was the other eighth-grade teacher.
“You need to update your grades. I keep getting complaints from parents.”
“Okay,” Harry said.
Kristina was attractive and single. She was dating, but single. Harry liked her, kind of, but he didn’t understand her.
“When are you going to have a kid?” She asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you gay, or do you just hate women?”
“You know what, since you’ve been working here, we’ve turned you into a woman.”
Harry didn’t say anything.
The day wore on, and his shirt was wearing thin.
His computer phone was ringing… “This is Mrs. Anderson. I want those grades posted by the end of this week!”
“Mrs. Anderson, I have lessons plans to do.”
“I don’t care if you have lesson plans. Get those grades in, or I’m going to talk to your principal!”
“Listen Bitch! Don’t call again!”
There was silence on the other end. Harry hung up. He had his meeting with the principal in five minutes.
Principal Stevens was bald. He looked at Harry with condescension and unease. Stevens dressed in a 3-piece suit that he bought at Macy’s. It came with a red tie. His side-kick, the vice principal, was sitting at his desk. They were shooting the shit about something. It reminded Harry of the showers, in the football locker-room.
“Yes, Harry. It concerns your request to be department head. It has been denied. People just don’t like you. We need a people-person to be the head of the department. Harry discreetly shut the door, and like a vacuum, the mercy was sucked out of the room. Secretaries stared through the glass wall as Harry erupted. He turned into a werewolf without making a physical transformation. His hand gestures were that of a dictator. When he was through, he walked out; instantly, feeling better about himself. In two months, eight years was only a memory. It was like he had never been there.